


Charged

by LittleSammy



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-21
Updated: 2012-04-21
Packaged: 2017-11-04 02:14:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 6,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/388574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSammy/pseuds/LittleSammy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <b>"It's like juggling a grenade while trying to put the pin back in."</b>
  <br/>
  <b>Shane Brennan about "Tiva"</b>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>A series of mostly unconnected ficlets centered around a charged relationship between those two. Not all chapters are mature, the ones not work safe are marked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Watched

They're not aware that Abby watches them. None of them has the slightest idea that she began to tap into the feeds of the security cameras shortly after they brought Ziva back.

She knows it's not normal, but it's a security thing for her, too. She needs to keep track of them. She can't lose Ziva again, can't lose _any_ of them, and so she often disrupts her lab routines by flipping through the camera channels until she has found her friends and sees with her own eyes that they are safe.

She finds Tony easily and, not surprisingly, Ziva is with him. Also not surprisingly, they are yelling at each other. She can't hear them, but Abby has watched that routine a few times now, mostly after something bad has gone down in a case. They usually start out by pacing around each other like two tigers in a too small cage, and at some point, one of them always snaps. And just like that it happens somewhere on the parking deck now, with Ziva stabbing her finger at his chest and Tony clenching his jaw hard until she backs off again.

When Ziva turns away from him, Abby sees him close his eyes for a second, and she knows that he isn't relieved this particular discussion is over. She knows that ever since he has been to Israel with Ziva he's like a man juggling a grenade about to go off, only that he doesn't seem sure if he actually wants to put the safety pin back in. She knows that some part of him wants the explosion to happen, one way or the other, but he's not the one who can loosen his grip, who can drop the charge.

There's no explosion this time, so Abby bites her lip and switches off the monitors eventually.

She doesn't know that right then in the parking lot Tony lets go of the bomb that is his heart, and while it slips through his fingers, he reaches for Ziva.


	2. Triggered

He knows she will not go home when Gibbs sends her. He knows she will wait for him, just like she does every time when something like this happens. Sometimes it's just a fistfight that sets her off. Other times it's a bullet too close, a knife too sharp. Or, like today, a bomb going off so close by that he is thrown to the ground while she has to watch.

He finishes his report meticulously. Dots all the Is and crosses all the Ts. Takes more time than is necessary to wrap things up while Ziva is most likely waiting for him downstairs. Maybe she's pacing nervously, like a caged animal. Maybe she's just leaning back against the hood of his car, arms crossed in front of her chest, eyes cast downward. But she will be there. There's no chance in hell she's gonna let that one slide.

She doesn't look at him when he finally unlocks his car, just climbs into the passenger seat without a word.

In fact, there aren't many words between them on these occasions. Just moans, whispered names and sometimes curses when it gets too intense. She clings to him with heated gasps of something desperate, something that is as hard to control as the physical blast that set it off, and he has his hand buried in her hair while he eats her mouth and fucks her with the very same despair.

She doesn't say anything afterwards. She never does. Just touches him in a way that makes him think that she feels like she has already lost him, and he wonders why she can never act on those feelings _before_ something bad happens, always just after it was almost, almost too late.

He watches her while she draws back already, and he knows that she will be gone when he wakes up. And just like they always do, they will ignore what happened the next morning because it will seem to be the easier way.

But it isn't, really, and he doesn't want her to leave, and so he decides that tonight he will not fall asleep.


	3. Ticking

"Tick," she says, and a muscle under Tony's eye starts to twitch, which in turn makes her grin. "Nervous?" she asks coyly and lowers her eyes to her keyboard again.

Tony snorts and taps away on his own keyboard, and soon after that McGee hears the ding that signals Ziva received the message. His own eye twitches in sympathy when she just raises her eyebrow and deletes the message, then goes back to watching her partner do... whatever it is they have going on this time.

"Tick _tock_ ," she says, her fingernails making little tapping sounds on the space bar while there is the hint of a smile playing around her mouth.

"I _know_ ," Tony replies. "Cut it out."

McGee tries to ignore both of them, but the more they keep it up, the harder his neck cramps from the force it takes to uphold the impression that he doesn't notice what they are doing.

It's that... _thing_ they have going. The thing of the week, or sometimes it's the thing of the day, depending on how long a joke can be played out between them. 

It's nothing unusual. They've been there at least a couple hundred times over the years. 

Except that this time she's really getting under Tony's skin. And she knows it. And loves it.

"Tick," she singsongs and basks in the way she makes him clench his teeth and glare at her. "Running out, my love."

McGee pretends he didn't hear that, very much like Tony does. For the first time in almost six years, both men sit at their desks in exactly the same pose - shoulders tense, hands clutching the keyboard like a lifeline, neck cramped with the effort of looking like Ziva's teasing is not that big a deal.

"Tock," McGee hears her voice across the gap between their desks. And he snaps.


	4. Touched

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> continues chapter one

She already reacts when she barely feels him move behind her but his hands are much faster than she expected. She feels his fingertips at the base of her neck, and while she turns to face him with a still-angry frown, he buries his hand deep in her hair and tugs. And just like that, she is pressed against his chest so tightly that it forces her to exhale, her breath coming out in a quick rush.

His grasp is tight, his fingers strong, and she blinks while he holds her like that, palm cradling the back of her head. She wants to turn her head and look at him, but just then an almost violent shudder runs through him and she feels him press his face into the curve of her neck. She feels overwhelmed for a heartbeat, and this is too close, too much, and she has no idea why.

"What..." she starts out and then loses track of the question because his scent hasn't been this close, this... _around_ her for such a long time.

She feels her posture get more rigid the longer he keeps holding her like that, and she wants to step back, wants to get some much needed distance between them. But his grip is strong on her neck, and his other hand comes up just then to press hard against the small of her back, turning this into an embrace and something intimate.

"Tony," she says, and to her own surprise she finds that her voice is shaking. Too much. "Let go of me."

"I can't," he presses out, his breath rushed, and his arms tighten even more, clinging to her like he is a drowning man. She feels the fight in him, and she knows there is something happening, something important, she feels it, but _she_ can't and it's just...

"I don't want to hurt you," she says, and her voice is suddenly a shrill thing that scratches against her skin. Her own hands are raised, arms spread as if she wants to pretend she is unarmed, fingers flexing around air nervously because her body wants to react to feeling trapped.

Another shudder runs through him, and for some reason her flight reflex settles down after that and her body accommodates his distress and presses closer to him.

"You may have to." 

His teeth are grit while his lips move against her neck. His breath, his lips are so warm on her skin. His heart is a jackhammer against her chest, and she finds that her pulse begins to mirror that, too. Her hands clench and unclench, and she raises them higher, tries to bring them between their bodies to push him away.

But control is a fickle thing and hers slips, and so she finds herself whispering that she can't. Her hand comes up around his back, grabbing a fistful of his shirt.


	5. High

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is most definitely NOT safe for work.

He curses when he feels her nails dig into his back and draw blood, but she just throws her head back and makes him fuck her even harder. And so he pounds into her just as she likes it, and her heat is so intense that she almost consumes him. She's so alive in these short nights, the ones that make his blood run high with a need that is so hard to satisfy because it never fully is. 

She whispers nasty, horny things when he is above her and presses her into the sheets, and yeah, it is all kinds of hot, but sometimes he thinks that just once he would like to make love to her instead of just fucking her like an animal. But he is always too weak to resist her pull, can't fight the mad lust she draws from him so easily, and all too soon they're always back to what they do best when they're alone. It's not romantic, but it sure is what they both need.

She cries out just then and her body explodes underneath him, arching off the bed, her legs tightening around his hips and pressing him even deeper into her. Shudders run through her suddenly, hard, uncontrollable, and that is always the moment when he loses it, too. He's loud this time, tries to grit his teeth around the obscene sounds that turn this into something less, but he has no chance, not with her, not when she forces him to ride her hard like that.

"Yes," she hisses into his ear, and then she bites his neck. And he moans while his head falls forward and he comes so hard that he feels close to blacking out. 

It takes a while until he can breathe again. The sheets are cool against his forehead. Ziva's heartbeat is a harsh thunder against his chest while she rides out the last ripples of her release, her arms and legs keeping him around her, inside her. And then, just when he thinks that yeah, this could be the night when he can fall asleep with her like that, she comes to her senses with a gasp. Her hands shove him away suddenly, push against his chest until he rolls off her, and as soon as his weight is gone, she sits up and swings her legs over the edge of the bed. 

She's still breathing hard, but she looks as if she wants to run to the shower as soon as she can walk again, and goddamn, that stings. Like it does every time. He stares at her back, her tense posture that is so very different from how she writhed underneath him just a moment ago, and he hears himself say, "I hate it when you do that."

That brings her to her feet and two steps away from the bed before she turns and looks at him. She is quiet for a few too long moments. Then she tilts her head to the side and says, "But you keep coming back."

For some reason he doesn't get her voice is suddenly so flat that her words are just that - a mere statement. No mocking tone to them, no accusation. If there is any emotion underneath it at all, it's a mild curiosity.

"Yeah," he replies, and that one word leaves such a bitter sting that he feels the need to spit and clean his mouth. "I wonder why I keep doing it."

Something crosses her face then, and he isn't quite sure what that expression means, just that she suddenly looks like he has struck her. Her hands clench and unclench while she searches for the right answer, and that makes him think that maybe this time he has gone too far.

"Endorphins," she says eventually, and her voice is now so cool and controlled that it creeps him out. "The ones released during sexual activity create euphoria similar to that produced by opioid drug abuse." 

He frowns, and when he gets what she is saying his jaw tenses.

"It's just an addiction," she adds, and this time there is some minute tint to her voice that makes him wonder if she actually believes that herself.

Even if she doesn't, her words still hurt, and he wants to say something, but just like every time, he can't find the right words. So he just stares at her for a little while longer and then rolls to his side, turning his back to her.

"Whatever," he says, and this time his own voice is flat because he's coming down from the high so hard that he feels like he's crashing head first into concrete.

She's quiet for a few heartbeats, and he wants to take it back, but he can't, just like Ziva never can, and so he hears her take in a deep breath before she heads to the shower after all.

"I hate it when you do that," she murmurs just before the bathroom door clicks shut behind her, and he closes his eyes while his hands clench into fists.

She's right, it's an addiction. He just hopes that the symptoms don't wear off before she realizes it isn't a physical one.


	6. Rehab

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of "High". No smut this time, but darkness.

He's usually restless while he waits for his turn in the bathroom because by the time he comes out again, she's always back to her normal self, the one he sees each day at work. But for some reason it's worse this time. He soon finds himself wandering around and trying to get a grip before he loses it and smacks his fist into the nearest wall. By now he's tense enough to hear his vertebrae crack whenever he turns his head, and the longer he paces, the louder the snaps get.

He knows it's irrational but he can't help thinking that she's mocking him now by taking all the time she wants in the bathroom. His watch says she's been in there only four minutes. In reality, it is a small eternity during which he is left to his own thoughts. And those don't feel too good currently.

In the end he can no longer fight down the urge to rattle her cage, to give her back some small amount of that nervous tension she drew out of him. Heck, by now he feels spiteful and childish enough to just want to flush while she's in the shower. By now he is prepared to bang on the door and yell at her to let him in. Even if it just leads to her padding through her bathroom soaking wet and pissed off, it's okay with him right now.

He doesn't have to yell, though. The door is unlocked, and he already exploded halfway into the room before he notices. The second thing he realizes is that Ziva isn't in the shower. She's leaning over the sink, her hands gripping the edges as hard as she can, and she is bent forward as if she is about to heave.

"Get out," she presses out, and her voice is harsh and rough. Her head falls forward so her curls hide her face but they don't cover up the tremors running through her. She's shaking so hard that she almost looks like she's having cramps, and that switches Tony's mood from angry to concerned so fast he reels from the emotional whiplash.

"What's wrong?"

Her hands grip the sink tight and she shudders even harder as her control slips.

"Nothing is wrong," she says through gritted teeth. "I just need a moment."

He frowns and watches more shudders ripple through her. He steps closer to her after all, and he doesn't even realize that he reaches out to touch her back until she hisses, "Don't."

Her voice sounds like she's about to lose it, and Tony pulls his hand back very carefully. He doesn't leave, though, just looks around in her tiny bathroom for a moment and then sits down on the toilet. It's right beside the sink, so he ends up closer to her than before, but this time she doesn't object, just concentrates on breathing evenly. He watches her warily and tries to look past the curtain of hair. He's never seen her like this before, so he has no idea how to deal with this version of his partner. With a Ziva who looks almost as messed up as he felt just a few minutes ago.

And that is when he gets it. That she's still trying to keep him out. And her own control over that is slipping.

"You do this every time we...?" His voice trails off because he can't say 'fuck', and he certainly can't call it anything else.

Another shudder runs through her, and while he still tries to catch a glimpse of her face, he hears a soft plink that is maybe caused by a tear hitting the porcelain.

"It's all we know," she says, and this time her voice really cracks. "And it's all you want."

His eyes narrow, and part of him wants to snap. He wants to yell at her and ask her how the fuck she knows what he wants. Wants to grab her arms and shake her until she gets a grip. Wants to throw up now because all that time it was his own fault she didn't let him in. It's not because she didn't want to. It's because he never asked her to.

The sudden pain that thought brings tightens his throat, and now he really wants to hit a wall. Not out of rage this time. For punishment.

He breathes slowly, tries to control the urges that want to tempt him into something more stupid than the things already littering his shitty track record. In the end, he forces himself to just reach for her hand and put his own over hers. Her skin is clammy, and he feels the feverish trembling grow stronger again, but that's about the only reaction he gets.

"Can I stay for the night?" he asks quietly. 

He counts the seconds it takes until her shudders stop and she nods.

Four.


	7. Average

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wacky science fact courtesy of OMGFactsSex on Twitter. 
> 
> And again, this one is _so_ not safe for work...

The average couple spends about twenty minutes engaged in sexual foreplay prior to intercourse. 

At least that's what Tony has heard somewhere. 

He's not sure if it was in one of those wacky sex documentaries Abby loves to record for him. Maybe it was in an issue of HSM. Or maybe Cosmopolitan, which he swears he only reads because it's the only thing lying around in his therapist's office. 

Wherever that particular bit of knowledge has once crossed his path, it has stuck with him since then, and sometimes it comes back for a surprise visit in the most inappropriate moments. Like now, when Ziva's hand and his own touch while they're both reaching for the emergency button of the elevator. When she has her tongue deep in his mouth and her hand down his pants almost before the lights are out. When he groans and backs her up against the wall while he tries to decide if he rather wants to shove his thigh between hers to ride her or leave enough room so he can rip her pants open to really have her.

She takes the decision from his lust-clouded brain when she pushes him back and turns while she opens her pants and then shoves them down her thighs. He's hard by the time she pushes her ass out for him because that's an invitation he can never ignore, and he knows she's biting her lip while he wraps his arm around her waist, holding her upright. His other hand grabs her hip, pulling her right up against his body and against his cock until she makes that needy little sound deep in her throat that always drives him nuts.

Sometimes he thinks that being an average couple could be a nice thing. Doing the average foreplay thing. Having the time to really play with her, the leisure to lick her all over and explore her luscious body until they're both no longer able to stand. Spending a whole weekend without any case interruptions or neighbors asking for help or concerts Abby drags them to.

It's not that their quick and dirty encounters whenever they find the time and place aren't good. He knows she loves them as much as he does. That even these short and messy releases feel so ridiculously perfect that he sometimes wonders why they haven't been doing it right from the start.

But sometimes it would be nice to just spend some time with getting to know her, _really_ know her instead of merely knowing which buttons work best for her. Sometimes, actual foreplay doesn't sound too bad, even at times when he's deep inside her, like now, fucking her hard and fast against the shiny elevator wall, his muscles trembling already from what he knows will be a goddamn extraordinary orgasm.

And then he suddenly thinks that average couples rarely spend eight to twenty hours a day looking at gory evidence and interviewing suspects and building up tensions that are hard to get rid of after work. Average couples don't watch each other all day across their respective desks. They don't touch each other the whole day, both deliberately and accidentally, at every opportunity. They don't know their partner's mood from his or her scent alone. They don't communicate by touch or look or flick of the wrist. They don't spend their whole fucking day having foreplay.

He slides his hand between her legs, and while she starts shaking in his arms, moaning and rocking back against him hard, he can't help thinking that viewed this way, average sounds pretty boring, after all.


	8. Tease

They have one of these moments in the elevator again. 

The kind of moment that starts out while they're just talking and fooling around like they do every day. The kind of moment that completely changes direction in the middle of her teasing him about his hair or glaring at him because he just made an incredibly bad pun. The kind of moment when the mood switches into something much more potent and they lose track of what they were talking about mere seconds earlier.

These moments were always there over the years, but they didn't happen often. Just every now and then there was that certain situation when they were suddenly left staring at each other and they almost, almost crossed the distance because it seemed so tempting. When they sometimes even leaned into each other before they came to their senses again and postponed feeling soft lips and sharing a kiss yet again. Postponed it until there would be a more opportune moment, a more sensible situation, a more reasonable state of mind. Which, of course, never came.

Lately, though, these small moments of breathless anticipation, of something inevitable just waiting to happen, seem to be so much more prominent than the everyday moments, and it's starting to feel mind-numbingly obvious, even to the emotionally blindfolded participants of that particular dance. It's starting to become tedious, and with each day that passes, with each moment that happens, it becomes a little harder to ignore and even harder to pretend it doesn't happen.

So, this morning when the sudden silence and the onslaught of temptation make their heartbeats pound, one Very Special Agent can't take the tension anymore, and so he is the one who actually leans into his partner and tries to capture her lips and taste her. And he almost, almost succeeds, can almost feel the warmth of her lips on his when she suddenly backs away, her eyes wide, the pulse in her neck going through the roof.

He doesn't back away, though. He follows her movement and sticks close to her, and her gaze drops to his mouth just as the elevator dings to a halt. 

"Chicken," he says softly, his mouth and mind and body still willing and offering.

Dark eyes narrow and she turns and rushes out of the elevator in huffed annoyance while he starts to chuckle. 

"Chick-EN!" he calls after her, and she tries to ignore him and his evil laughter at having seen through her guise. "Chick-chick-chicken!"

McGee raises an eyebrow, not voicing the unspoken question because he values the mobility of his fingers.

"Yes, probie, mark that day in the calendar," Tony laughs while he drops his backpack and Ziva glares at him. "Our mighty ninja has issues and can be a chicken after all!"

"What about?" McGee dares to ask and is instantly hit by the full force of her stare.

"That is a topic not suitable for innocent McProbie ears," Tony gloats and leans back in his chair. "But it's a fact - she has been called and she chickened out." 

His grin wants to eat his ears, and McGee isn't quite sure if he should find that more disturbing or the blush that he can see forming on Ziva's cheeks.

Tony's behavior is insufferable after that. He clucks his tongue and makes chicken sounds in Ziva's direction at every opportunity. If there isn't an opportunity, he makes weird little happy noises which even ventures into humming. Not even a Gibbs-slap of the hard variety seems to be able to put a damper on his mood for two thirds of the day.

After that, Ziva has enough of his behavior and enough of other things, too, so she corners him in the men's room and calls him out in her own way. This time, he is the one who chickens out just before things turn into full-blown sex.


	9. Loss of

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An interlude, happening towards the end of "Truth or Consequences".

The faces changed. The pain changed, too, depending on the face that brought it. But the mad man has been the real constant in her life for the last... weeks? Months? Years? 

She isn't sure how long she's been here, and she thinks it doesn't matter. She was here long enough to get used to it. She was here long enough to come to terms with certain things. She was here long enough to regret others.

She doesn't want to look at his body on the floor, doesn't want to see her fate end like this, but eventually she can't help it. Blood pools underneath him and stains the floor she has looked at for hours and days and months. 

She had so much time to regret.

And yet, all the time she has been in total control of this. 

Not in the conventional way being in control means - she never acted, just reacted, and that only barely when she couldn't help it any more. She never actively shaped any of this. 

She was merely aware of a simple fact that gave her control over her situation: that sooner or later she would die.

She made her peace with that fact and accepted it. 

It was justified. It was the way it had to be, like a lot of things in her life had always been just the way they had to be. 

And now, suddenly, her fate, her justice, is lying on the floor, and he's bleeding dry and his eyes are empty. She has looked into those eyes almost every day during the eternity that was her summer, and they have never been empty before. It scares her.

The outcome of this situation, the one thing she was so sure about - it will no longer end the way it was supposed to end. There is a new situation arising now. One that does not feel justified. One that shakes her to the core. One that needs her to adapt and react and possibly even act. 

One that forces her to move forward once more. And she is terrified of that.

For a heartbeat, she wants to tell them to just leave her. To put a bullet to her head, too, so she doesn't have to fight, doesn't have to go on, doesn't have to adjust, doesn't have to deal with all of this. 

For a heartbeat, she wants to scream and run from them and grab that gun and do it herself.

Except that she is no longer in control and she can't, so she just sits there and feels another tear run down her cheek while they cut her bonds.

For a heartbeat, her main regret leans down and touches her cheek and looks into her eyes. For a heartbeat, the world freezes. 

And in the next heartbeat, his arm is around her waist and he drags her along and he helps her move forward.


	10. Slice of Infinity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This borders on porn because for some reason my muses refuse to give me angst these days. Really, don't read this while you have company. Unless you want said company involved at all costs, that is.

He remembers all too clearly how back in his youth, when everything sexual was new and shiny and wildly exciting -- much more so than later when he actually knew what he was doing -- he smuggled a battered copy of Kinsey's "Sexual Behavior of the Human Male" into his bedroom at school. The book he'd found at a garage sale, stuffed to the brim with tantalizing facts about one of the things that fascinated him most, was still with him by the time he went to college, only by then it was a lot more worn, with pages earmarked and sentences underlined and annotations on the side about words he had to look up.

He no longer has that book, but to this day Tony recalls a lot of seemingly random facts from the report that had been scandalous at its time, and often his memory comes back to those facts in the most inappropriate moments, much like scenes from movies often do. Unlike his movie quotes, though, he shows enough presence of mind most of the time to keep the Kinsey quotes in his head only.

One fact he is reminded of quite regularly is that Kinsey claimed about seventy-five percent of men reach orgasm within the first three minutes of penetration. He isn't sure why this one stuck with him so vividly. Maybe because there are moments -- much like this one -- when he can't help thinking that he would have royally screwed Kinsey's statistics... literally. He has been inside Ziva for the past twenty-three minutes, after all.

She moans and shudders underneath him just then, and he forces his wayward thoughts back to the task at hand -- on keeping it together just that little bit longer, just until he can push her over the edge once more.

She's flat on her stomach, and god, he loves to fuck her like that, especially if she makes these tiny noises while she raises her perfect little ass for him and urges him on like she does now. His jaw clenches, and he feels the muscles in his neck tighten as he leans over her to give her a better angle. His lips are against her cheek now and his breath makes her skin tighten, and it's suddenly much harder to stay in control. 

His harsh panting and her irregular moans are the only sounds that have filled the bedroom for quite some time. That and the creaking of the mattress and the almost shocked little gasps she gives him whenever he hits her just right, like now.

He finds the spot that sets her off big time, and she shakes so hard suddenly that his hand cramps around her hip to keep her still while he pounds into her. He knows that she'll probably have finger-sized bruises tomorrow, but he also knows she won't mind because she loves it when he fucks her like that, too. She'll revel in the reminder of the sensations, and he knows she'll smile at him wistfully every now and then, in those moments when she thinks nobody else is looking.

She twists underneath him and raises her hips a bit higher, just enough so she can bring her arm down and slide her hand between her legs, and when she starts to rub her clit Tony can't help the strangled groan that escapes his throat. Because now he feels her knuckles against his balls with each thrust, and god, they're just so good at this, so incredibly in sync, and he wants to spend the rest of his life doing just that, with being inside her, like that, like he was each night for the past week. 

It's a small miracle they haven't fucked their brain cells into oblivion yet.

He leans over her and puts most of his weight to his upper body so he can fuck her in longer strokes, and she doesn't complain, she just arches her back and rolls with him and gasps each time he crashes into her. He's had girls complain before, about his size, about the strength he likes to use when he's really losing himself, but not Ziva, oh no. She just takes all of him in stride, and she's the one who urges him to go for harder and faster each time, just like she does now, pushing back against him, wanting even more of him, and yeah, she needs it as badly as he does, and it's killing him to know that. 

Her breathing turns irregular and her fingertips lose some of their finesse, and that's when he puts even more strength into his thrusts until she gasps each time he hits her just right. Her body clenches hard around his cock suddenly, and it takes his breath away and leaves him just enough air so he can groan along with her. He shoves into her as deep as he can, and while she jerks underneath him and rides the high, he stills inside her with his full weight on her for a moment because his muscles are trembling from the effort of keeping it together. 

He's not sure if her breathing is so flat and labored now because he's heavy or because she's coming hard enough to blow his mind, too, and he doesn't really care. All he can think about is her incredible body against his and shaking under him, and her scent spiking to something heavy while her muscles flutter around him. She presses out moan after moan, and he has to really concentrate now because the temptation to follow her over the edge gets overwhelming for a second. But then this would end, and he'd have to let go of her and slip out of her, and he can't do that just yet, because. Just because. 

He's never closer to her than he is in these too-short moments, and he needs it like this, much like Ziva does. He craves the intoxicating sensation of literally being one with her, and it's addictive, it's like a drug, only he doesn't care about the side effects. All he knows is that she's hooked on whatever it is between them, too, as much as and maybe even more than he is.

But while his breathing slows down a bit and he thinks he has a grip on his lust and he can stretch this out just a little longer, she moans again and moves, pushing back against him so hard that it feels like she's impaling herself.

"Keep going," she presses out through gritted teeth, and he grunts when her fingers stray from their target for a moment and she runs them over the base of his cock. "Please."

And her voice is so strained, so needy, that his body reacts to the plea before Tony can make a conscious decision about it, and so he's moving again before he even notices it. And because he's found the perfect angle now, he makes her cry out with each thrust, and she's a shuddering mess underneath him soon. Her skin is so hot, drenched in sweat, and he wants to lick her and taste her and do a dozen things to her at once, but he can't because she's dragging him along now and because he's already too far gone.

She gasps again and presses her face into the sheets, and he feels her hand, the one she has up high beside her head to steady herself against the force of his thrusts. She grabs for his arm blindly, her nails digging into his flesh suddenly, and then she raises her ass even higher and cries out senseless words to urge him on, and so he starts to really chase the high until his body shakes and his balls tighten and he comes, hard, just this side of painful.

Ziva jerks underneath him, too, and he still has no idea how they do that, how he just _knows_ that she needs only a few more thrusts to tumble over the edge with him again, and so he groans into her neck and keeps going until he feels her muscles spasm and her hoarse moans ring in his ears and soak his mind. He feels her body clench around him, and it's almost too much this time. His hands tighten on her body again, one on her hip to keep her still, the other grasping her hand so hard it has to be painful. It is for him.

It takes a while until the mad intensity wears off and Ziva gradually relaxes underneath him, coming down from whatever insane experience they just shared. They stay like this for what feels like a small eternity, his chest heaving against her back, keeping her trapped between his body and the sheets, and they're back to non-words and to the sounds of harsh breaths filling the silence. 

And it's okay. They certainly never needed words before, so they don't need to start now.

He turns his head so he can press his face into her neck and inhale her heady scent. He loves that she never tells him to get off her or that he's too heavy, and he loves that extra bit of intimacy she grants him when they let the rush wear off together like this, when their breathing slowly goes back to normal while he is still inside her and all around her and she gradually loosens her death grip on his hand but still laces her fingers with his. Switching effortlessly to another kind of closeness, not quite as intense, but just as fulfilling.

He has no idea how long they stay like this, but eventually even this amount of adrenaline wears off and Ziva tries to turn her head and moans again, just this time it's not quite in the good way.

"My back hurts," she groans, and he can't help but laugh because it's no wonder, with the way her body is bent underneath him, and yeah, he is heavy after all, and it hasn't exactly been a leisure ride tonight.

But the amused rumble deep in his chest turns into another moan of his own when her body twitches around him again and a few muscles spasm, and that's just too intense right now.

"My dick hurts," he groans back at her, and that makes Ziva chuckle in return, which sends even more strained moans through both of them.

And yes, he does realize that this is their cue to break apart, to roll over and finally let go of each other and become two separate beings again. 

But for some reason, neither of them can be bothered to move first.


End file.
